Flying on Friday the thirteenth didn't faze me at all. I'm not
the superstitious type. The sun was sparkling off crests and ripples
on the Irish Sea, as the pilot announced that the temperature in
Dublin was 6 degrees. Nice.

Sure enough, the weather was cold, turning to wet. I had the
misfortune to visit the Irish Music Hall of Fame (don't go, it's
rubbish), but spent most of the afternoon strolling the streets of
Dublin.

In the tradition of Ian, I was staying with someone I'd never met
before. (These people are so brave.) I met up with Niamh after she
finished work, and went back to the Exclusive Suburb of Blackrock.

How to ingratiate yourself with the locals: Avid readers
of planetian (hi Mum) know that I'm not exactly a drinking man.
But by jingo by crikey I was in Dublin, I was in a Genuine
Irish Pub (unlike the crap establishments that blight the
Australian cityscape) and I was going to do the
right thing as a man and as an Australian and sample some
Guinness.

Ordinarily I describe beer as "undrinkable piss". Someone bought
me a Guinness and instructed me to get it into me. Or something
like that. After I had sipped away at the dark pint in front of me,
I remarked that it was the first drinkable beer I'd encountered.
Instant popularity.